After Before The Fall
by Aromene
Summary: He'd once said he'd seen the fall of Troy. You'd think Homer might have mentioned that.


**Disclaimer: I don't own this show either.**

**AN:**** T****his actually was a Doctor Who episode. During "The Myth Makers" with the**** First**** Doctor.**** I read all four parts. ****You may find them here: ****http://dwtpscripts. I hated it****; it was silly and dreadfully humorous for a war that killed thousands and destroyed a culture****. So, instead, I took the comment ****Nine**** makes ****in "The Unquiet Dead" ****and ran with that. More fun that way, I think. ****T****his is archaeological writing with a fictional character thrown in. I should do this more often. ****The previous trip to the Bronze Age is during "The Time Monster" with the Third Doctor when they go back to Atlantis c.1500BCE.**

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He's only been to Earth's Bronze Age once before, and that had gone just _so well_. He thinks the TARDIS is probably having fun with him on his newest regeneration, because backwater Earth history with swords and fire and petty men fighting wars for power is not really his idea of a good time.

He knows he should have just stayed inside. Sooner or later she would have given in and let him go somewhere else. Somewhere with plumbing and chips and maybe people who didn't look at him like he was alien. Even if he was. They didn't need to _know _that though.

It's warm and sunny and the ocean is all kinds of green-blue that never existed on Gallifrey. He really does love this turquoise colour humans always use when referring to their oceans. There is sand – white, soft powder – as far as he can see in the opposite direction. Except for that huge shinning wall that's sitting just at the edge of his vision. The TARDIS has dumped him in the open; not a tree, building or anything to mark the place. _Thanks_, he thinks and knows she can hear him. Fat lot of good it'll do.

He's not exactly dressed for the occasion, but surviving the Bronze Age is bad enough, it doesn't mean he has to go running around bare-chested in a skirt. He doesn't do skirts. Well, at least not anymore. He likes his leather jacket he found buried in the far corner of the third level of the wardrobe, and even if it'll absorb the sun like nothing else, it's not like the heat bothers him. Or the screams of fear he's going to get as soon as he encounters another living soul.

Speaking of, where exactly _is _everyone? City that size should dictate quite a few people. He wanders forwards, curious despite the fact he knows by now it's going to land him in all kinds of trouble. Honestly, it's like he's magnetized to it or something. One of his previous companions, oh, _years_ ago now, had remarked that trouble was a characteristic bred into Time Lord DNA. And really, it probably was. He'd never looked.

He misses having a travelling companion. Well, at least a little. He'd spent most of his Eighth regeneration alone, and it was quickly looking like the Ninth was going to go the same way. He could live with that, but things like being stuck in the Bronze Age were usually more fun when there was someone around he could complain to. Of course, if he ever found an actual human here he could complain anyways; it wasn't like they'd understand a word he said, translation sub-routine or not. Some things just did not work across cultures. Rapid-fire Time Lord ranting was one.

He hears the sound of battle long before he sees the evidence. There's a hill in front of him that he's been steadily climbing, through sand – he hates sand – and the sounds are coming from the other side. It's a sight when he finally makes the top. The wind is stronger up here, smelling of salt and blood and there are certainly enough of both in front of him. Battle lines as far as the eye can see. Ships pulled up on shore obscure at least a mile of beach. Shinning city in the background.

Oh, so it's _that_ part of the Bronze Age. Fall of Troy, etc, etc. Thousands of men die; a whole city crumbles, and all for one bloody woman. That's just really typical of stupid apes. They've never actually fought a war for a good reason.

Like the sake of all Creation, for instance. He suppresses a wince, because it's still far too soon to make sarcastic references, even if they're only in his head.

The ships have been there awhile. So, perhaps not the beginning of the war, but that leaves a wonderful half dozen or so years to pick from. But the city appears, at least at a distance, relatively intact, and they're still fighting merrily away, so it's not the utter end. No earthquake yet. Which means he can sit around and wait for the end that is probably soon to come (the TARDIS never lands him anywhere where there's nothing to do) or he can turn right back around and enjoy a well-deserved screaming match with his ship.

Both are equally as tempting. He never used to be like this. Clearly he's losing sanity with each regeneration. This means he should start worrying, oh, about three regenerations ago. Bit too late now, he supposes.

It takes him well over an hour to hike back around, keeping well away from the water and the ten thousand men having at it, and come at the city from behind. It takes him another hour to find a way inside; war, guards, and paranoia all make secret entry into fortified cities difficult. And he has to find something to wear.

Big dark blue sheet. Height of Bronze Age fashion. Hopefully no one will be looking at his feet. It's getting on towards sunset now, and he hasn't been able to hear the battle for awhile. Maybe because the city shelters the noise, but more likely the men have called their nightly truce and returned to their fires and meat. Bloody stupid way to fight a war. He slips silently between the alleyways of the lower city, knowing he will not be noticed unless he makes himself so.

There's tension in the air, but the city still seems to be thriving amidst a war. Children are still playing, women are still smiling; it's apparent the Trojans are sure in their defensive walls. A city unconquered. Well, not for much longer.

Every window in the the palace is awash with burning light. It shines like gold in the dancing flames of torches and fires. So beautiful. Such a monumental achievement at a time when men were still figuring out how to write. Humans came so far so fast in the first 3000 years of civilization. And then it all just went to pieces when Rome up and died. But the stupid little apes would manage something his people had not. They would survive.

This new body is a bit too moody and morose. It's over. It's done. He just wants to forget. And oh, like _that's_ ever going to happen.

He spends another hour wandering until the streets are all but deserted. It'll be a wretched walk back to the TARDIS in the dark, and he'll be lucky to find it without help from the sonic screwdriver. And there's sand and hills, and he turns in to the nearest tavern instead. It's not as quiet as he thought it might be. Men at war still like to drink. There's a table shoved into the corner and he hides himself away in the shadows and listens. Bit of a new concept that.

Greece's king is getting desperate. The raiding parties along the coast haven't brought any new spoils back in over two months and food is running low. The men are getting restless to return to their own lands; they've long since forgotten why they came to fight this war anyways. Trojan victory is for certain.

Except for the pesky earthquake that should be coming along any week.

Rumbles in the earth have been felt. The gods grow angry with the petty wars of men.

Alright, so change that to anytime in the next week then. He'll be able to tell a day or two off. Enough time to make sure he's elsewhere. Elsewhere without massive stone walls to topple down upon him. It's nearing the end.

He watches the men around him. Very soon they will lose their entire world. Their family, their friends, their home. He knows exactly how it will feel.

He spends the night in a barn nearby, gets up before dawn and disappears into the lingering shadows. No one has marked his passage. The Lord of Time walking silently through the History of Men.

Four days later he stands on the highest hill he can find, the TARDIS humming behind him, and watches Troy's walls crumble to dust as the earth rocks beneath his feet. He can hear the screams, even two miles away.

He turns away, shuts the door behind him and begs the TARDIS to take him anywhere else. He's already watched one civilization fall. He can't bear to watch another.


End file.
